


Barney Drabbles

by dreamsofspike



Category: How I Met Your Mother
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9829553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: A collection of my drabbles for the character of Barney Stinson from How I Met Your Mother, in various pairings.Warnings: non-con, abuse, child abuse, violence, suicide, dark themes





	1. Haircut

He can hardly stand to look in the mirror.  
  
Every time he does, all he can remember is...  
  
 _No... no, it didn't happen... wasn't real..._  
  
But despite his desperate attempts to convince himself, the images play over and over in his mind...  
  
 _"Please, please stop! Don't! Let me go!"  
  
"Shut up, you little bitch! I'll do whatever I want to do with you, and you're gonna take it like the little slut you are!"  
  
"Stop... no!"_  
  
His trembling hand rises to run through the clumsily chopped up mess that's left of his hair, and he feels a shiver of disgust run through him with the unbidden memories.  
  
 _"No, don't! What are you doing?!"  
  
"Shut up! You look like a pathetic little girl, Stinson. You want someone else to come along and do what I just did? No... and neither do I. Because you know what? You're_ mine _now. You hear me, kid? You're_ mine _."_  
  
Barney shudders, and barely makes it to the toilet before he vomits, wishing he could somehow expel all the vile filth that he can feel now, contaminating every ounce of who he is.  
  
Alone, despondent, on the floor of his bathroom, idly running his hands through the wreckage of his hair, Barney knows that there's only one solution.  
  
 _Become someone else._


	2. What Did You Do to Us?

"And just who the hell are _you_?"  
  
"I'm you, loser... only awesome."  
  
"You can't be me! You're some kind of... of... materialistic, self-obsessed, narcissistic corporate sell-out!"  
  
"Yeah, well... I'm the materialistic self-obsessed, narcissistic corporate sell-out that you'll turn out to be in a few years, so you can get off your high horse anytime..."  
  
"I would _never_ be like you! Not for all the money in the world! You _disgust_ me..."  
  
"Take a better look, kid. Come on, come closer."  
  
"..."  
  
"See anything familiar?"  
  
"Oh, my God..."  
  
"Told you."  
  
"But... how could I... What could possibly happen to... _No!_ "  
  
"Yes, my poorly groomed, pathetic friend. You should be grateful that at some time in the not-so-far-off future, you stop being lame and start being awesome -- and you've got me to thank for it!"  
  
" _Thank_ for it? Are you _kidding_ me? Whatever you did to make this happen -- you _destroyed_ me!"  
  
"Uh... _no_. I _saved_ you, you idiot. No woman in her right mind would look twice at you -- no woman _did_. And now, you have more women than you can count, anytime you want them. You have all the money you could ever need, power, influence, and anything else you could ever want..."  
  
"Are you in love?"  
  
"..."  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Love... doesn't exist."  
  
*horrified* "What happened to you?"  
  
"You'll find out in a year or two... and you'll be glad you did."  
  
"No... I'll _never_ be like you, you phony, two-faced, shallow idiot!"  
  
"Oh, yes you will, you pathetic, dirty little piece of hippie trash!"  
  
" _What_ did you call me?"  
  
"You heard me..."  
  
"You disgusting, twisted, slutty little... _mmmpph_! Ugh! What are you _doing_?"  
  
"I... I don't know. You're just... strangely hot when you're all yelling and angry..."  
  
"Get _off_ me!"  
  
"Your lips say get off me... your erection pressing into my thigh says get _me off_... so which is it, kid? I have a feeling this is a once in a lifetime chance, so take advantage while you _mmmppphh_..."  
  
****************************  
  
"This... never happened."  
  
"You know... I'm pretty sure you're right about that."


	3. Refuge

Barney flinched as Greg pinned him against the wall of the house, one hand around his throat.  
  
"You're not gonna say a word about this... are you, Stinson?"  
  
"N-no," Barney whispered, blinking back tears of shame. "Who would I tell?"  
  
"No one, that's who." Greg shook him. "You talk... and I'll kill you."  
  
He released the boy with a shove into the wall, then punched him in the stomach with enough force to drop him to his knees on the ground. Greg sauntered off to his car, unconcerned with the devastated boy he'd left on Rhonda the man-maker's porch.  
  
She would sleep with anyone; she made the perfect cover story for why little Barney Stinson had been out all night.  
  
Once Greg was gone, Barney tried to rise, but let out a sharp cry of pain and collapsed again, hurt too badly to get to his feet. He huddled against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest, trembling in the early morning chill. The sky was just beginning to grow light along the horizon, but he had no way of getting home, no way of getting to any help.  
  
Fortunately, help came to him.  
  
"Oh, my God... are you okay?"  
  
Barney was in shock, shaking violently, as the woman who had just opened her front door crouched in front of him. He looked up at her through dazed eyes, shaking his head slowly in confusion.  
  
"Come here, let me help you," she murmured, gently snaking an arm around his shoulders, under his arms. "Let's get you up, sweetie."  
  
He struggled to his feet, obeying on sheer instinct, though he could barely process what was happening.   
  
"Come on."  
  
She softly encouraged him into her first floor bedroom, where she helped him to sit on the edge of the bed, and then to lie down. She gasped when she saw the back of his bloodied jeans, the way he cringed when she carefully sat on the edge of the bed.  
  
"Don't," he whispered, eyes closed, shaking his head. "Please don't..."  
  
"It's okay," soothed him, running gentle fingers through his hair. "It's all right, sweetheart." She rose, reaching for the phone on her nightstand. "I'll call for help..."  
  
"No!" he cried out, his voice trembling with panic as he reached out a weak hand to grasp her wrist. "No, don't... don't call anyone." He was quiet for a moment, looking down as he added, "No one can... can know..."  
  
Rhonda frowned, sitting down again, one hand in his hair, the other running slowly up and down his bruised arm. His clothes were ripped and bloodied, his face battered and bruised, his hair a ragged mess as if someone had tried to give him a haircut with a pocketknife.  
  
He needed help -- but she couldn't force him to accept it.  
  
He'd been violated enough for one lifetime.  
  
"Please," he whispered, despondent. "Please don't call anyone... I can't tell anyone, please..."  
  
"Shhh," she murmured. "I won't. That has to be your choice, sweetie. But will you let _me_ help you? Clean you up a little?"  
  
He just clung to her hand tightly, his slight frame shaking with the effort of repressing his sobs. Finally he nodded, his eyes closed, a convulsive swallow visible in his throat.  
  
She was as gentle and respectful as possible as she helped him get undressed and inspected his injuries, bandaging his injuries.  
  
Once that task was finished, she slid the blankets out from under him so that he was lying on the clean sheet beneath them, then laid a clean, soft blanket over him.   
  
"I'll let you get some rest..."  
  
"Please..." he whispered. "D-don't... don't leave me... please? I... I can't be... alone right now... please..."  
  
Her eyes welled with tears. "I won't. It's all right," she assured him.   
  
He relaxed a little, clearly relieved, but he was still trembling so hard that his teeth were chattering.  
  
"I'm... s-so cold," he whispered.  
  
She ran gentle fingertips across his bruised cheek, noting how strikingly beautiful the boy really was. She hesitated, unwilling to make him feel unsafe.   
  
"Do you want me to lie here with you?" she offered softly. "Help keep you warm?"  
  
He hesitated, then nodded. Rhonda carefully lay down on the bed facing him, pulling the blanket over both of them before wrapping a cautious arm around his trembling shoulders, her other hand gently stroking his cheek.  
  
"It's all right," she murmured into his ear, drawing him into a comforting embrace. "It's okay... everything's going to be all right..."


	4. Hatred

They’d never suspect him of this.

 

They know that Barney Stinson is capable of disgusting, reprehensible acts – but they’d never imagine he’d do a thing like this – and to someone he supposedly loves so much.

 

His jaw clenches with vicious satisfaction as fragile flesh breaks beneath the blade, and a quiver of pain shakes through the damaged limb. The muffled cry resulting from the cut brings a grim, sadistic smile to his lips, and he makes another slice with the knife, his eyes drinking in the deep red line it leaves behind.

 

 _You deserve it… you’ve earned this, you worthless little piece of shit. You deserve to hurt… deserve to bleed… deserve to_ die _…_

 

He makes the fatal slices in the wrists, cutting lengthwise instead of straight across, so there’s no chance of his victim’s reaching help and safety before he’s bled out. He watches through a haze of hateful red as the panic takes over… and then, that haze slowly fades to black.

 

His friends would never have suspected that he’d do a thing like this.

 

They’re stunned to silence when they find his body in the morning.

 

Who’d have ever imagined that Barney Stinson hated himself so much?


	5. Heartbreak

She deals in heartbreak.

 

The desperate, desolate, drunken men who end up at this bar long after the ones with more fulfilling lives have gone – those are her prey. She finds what she’s seeking in their eyes instantaneously – and it’s all over this one, visible in every line of his weary face, the fallen set of his narrow shoulders, and the glimmer of tears in ice blue eyes.

 

She witnessed his conversation hours earlier with the pretty brunette – knew by sight alone that he was being rejected.

 

When the brunette walked out, the blond went to the bar – and hasn’t left since.

 

She sidles up to him, slipping a too-familiar arm around his waist, thinking how easy it’d be to slip his wallet from the pocket of his Armani suit. He’s too drunk to notice if she did.

 

_Later. I can get more from this one than just a few bucks._

 

“You look like you could use some company,” she purrs, giving him a warm, sympathetic look.

 

He meets her eyes, glances toward the door, then back again, his jaw set with hurt and anger.

 

“Yeah,” he replied, his soft voice hoarse with unshed tears. “Yeah… why the hell not?”


	6. Secrets

Barney’s good at keeping secrets.

 

He should be; he’s had enough practice.

 

No one else in the group can seem to keep quiet about anything for long. Lily might be the worst secret-keeper ever, but the others aren’t far behind her. He thinks the record for the longest time any of them has managed to keep something from all of the others has to be no greater than about three weeks.

 

He has secrets he’s kept longer than he’s known the _word_ “secret”.

 

“Don’t tell your mommy,” is a concept just a little easier for a small child to understand.


	7. Awesome Tie

"Barney... what are you wearing?"  
  
"I'm so glad you asked that question, Lily. It's my new awesome tie. Do you like it?"  
  
"Um... _no_. Do... _you_ like it?"  
  
"Well, I'm wearing it, aren't I? Why wouldn't I? It's fully awesome!"  
  
"Nooo... it _says_ fully awesome over and over again all over it, is in a hideous color, and is something so tacky I never would have imagined you wearing it."  
  
"Why, thank you, Lily..."  
  
"You _do_ tacky, classless things, but you don't _wear_ them."  
  
"Speaking of tacky, classless things I've done recently, if some chick named Anna calls this number, pretend not to speak English or something. I gave her this number instead of my own because..."  
  
"Don't wanna hear it, Barney. Wanna hear about the tie."  
  
"Oh, yes. Listen closely, because this is sheer brilliance. See, when a woman looks at me, what do you think she sees?"  
  
"Is this a reasonably intelligent, sober woman, or a dumb blonde after four or five drinks?"  
  
"She sees, in fact, one of two things: either option a) someone who is too far above her in social status to be attainable, and therefore intimidating; or option b) a sleazy, arrogant jerk who's trying to hard to impress her."  
  
"So the first woman is the blonde, and the second one is the intelligent, rational..."  
  
"The very tacky classlessness of my "fully awesome" tie, in a brilliant stroke of irony, proves to said woman -- _either_ woman -- that I either a) don't take myself so seriously after all and am not really trying to impress anyone, but am just that awesome with the exception of my quirky tie; or b) am approachable because I have a weakness -- my poor choice of fashion accessories."  
  
"Okay, so the women just switches places again, didn't they?"  
  
"Try to keep up, Lily."


	8. Alone

Even surrounded by his closest friends… Barney Stinson is always alone.

 

He knows they care about him, knows they’d be there for them if he really needed them – but he also knows that none of them really “get” him. They all think of him as nothing more than a self-centered, wanton hedonist who cares about nothing but himself. As long as he keeps them entertained, while remembering to stop before he annoys them too much, they’ll continue to be comfortable and content with him.

 

So… he gives them what they want – what they _expect_ – from him.

 

And he remains alone.


	9. Job Security

“I think I’m going to get fired.”

 

That announcement stuns Barney’s friends, who immediately begin all asking questions at once, not the least of which is the usual, yet unanswered question:

 

“What exactly do you _do_ , anyway, Barney?”

 

His answer is as per usual. “ _Please_.”

 

Marshall’s eyes light up momentarily as something occurs to him. “Hey! If you get fired, does that mean you’ll be able to tell us?” The disapproving looks of the others cow him into asking a meeker, more supportive question. “I mean… what happened? Why would you be fired?”

 

Barney is evasive and offers an explanation that really isn’t one at all, before leaving the group for the night.

 

The next evening, he brings them the news.

 

“I’m not going to get fired.”

 

“Damn it!” Marshall mutters before quickly adjusting under the disapproving looks of his friends. “I mean… that’s great, Barney. Congratulations.”

 

Strangely, Barney doesn’t seem all that excited or happy. He smiles, but it’s a tired, distracted smile, and it isn’t long before he excuses himself to the men’s room – and is gone for more than ten minutes. Lily and Marshall exchange a look before Marshall rises and follows Barney to the restroom, intent on finding out what he’s not telling them.

 

Barney’s passed out on the bathroom floor, his unfastened pants hanging down around his thighs revealing the answers to their questions – and far more than Marshall ever wanted to know. Fresh bruises cover Barney’s thighs and buttocks, and smears of dried blood tell Marshall with brutal clarity just how Barney managed to save his job.

 

As Marshall kneels beside him and reaches gentle arms to lift Barney off the floor, the smaller man is roused by the movement, letting out a hoarse whimper of pain before opening his eyes, blinking dazedly up into Marshall’s stricken face.

 

Barney glances down to where his expensive slacks pool around his thighs, then closes his eyes, looking away in obvious shame.

 

“Marshall…” he whispers, shaking his head. “Don’t… don’t say… anything…”

 

“Barney, we have to go to the cops. What they… what they did to you…”

 

“No,” Barney insists, and the fear in his voice and eyes as he looks sharply up at Marshall again, a sudden clarity in his gaze. “No, Marshall, we can’t… the cops…” He shakes his head, looking away. “They’re so much bigger than the cops…”

 

Frustrated, Marshall frowns, a tremor in his voice. “Then, _who_ …?”

 

“We’d both be dead before we could find out.”  
  


Marshall stares at him in silent horror for a long moment as the reality of the situation sinks in. Barney’s in way over his head, involved with very dangerous people who are clearly capable of heinous brutality. Usually, Marshall’s all for taking action – but the look in Barney’s eyes tells him that maybe this time, that might do more damage than good.

 

He helps Barney to his feet, then gently looks him over to make sure there’s no lasting damage – physically, anyway. Barney says he thinks he was just a little weak from pain and blood loss, but he’ll be okay. He insists that he’s okay, he’s fine, and can Marshall just pretend this whole thing never happened?

 

Marshall doesn’t think he has any other choice.

 

They return to the table and Marshall shakes his head slightly at Lily with a reassuring smile to indicate that all is well.

 

He hopes he’ll be able to hold out, for the sake of all of their safety.

 

He never asks Barney about his job again.

 

He thinks it’s probably safer for him – and for Barney – if he doesn’t know.


	10. Full Circle

He sits on the porch with his back to the door, slender arms wrapped around his slight frame, shivering in the late evening chill. Large, frightened eyes peer into the gathering darkness, glancing up with gratitude toward the porch light he hopes will keep the monsters at bay.

 

He huddles closer against the door, wondering again where she is.

 

_She said she’d be home by now. She knows James is gone for the weekend. Why isn’t she home?_

 

Trembling arms wrap around his knees, and he buries his face within them, thinking that maybe if he can’t see the monsters creeping out of the darkness, they won’t be able to see him either.

 

***************************

 

“Barney?”

 

Lily’s voice is concerned as she and Marshall approach their apartment to find him sitting outside the door with his knees drawn up in front of him like a child. He looks up as they reach him, and they can see that tears streak his face. Lily’s still carrying a noisemaker from Ted’s party, but her hand lowers, her heart troubled as she remembers Ted’s vague non-explanations about why Barney hadn’t been there.

 

“I told him I’m sorry.” Barney’s tone was lost and confused and pleading. “I didn’t mean for it to happen…” He breaks down, his words trembling uncontrollably near the end until he buries his face again.

 

“Hey, shhh, come here,” Lily croons, crouching and wrapping her arm around his shaking shoulders. “It’s gonna be fine, sweetie… come on…”

 

They take him inside, and Barney pours out the story of his attempt to do the right thing and confess to Ted, and how it all went so horribly wrong. With every broken word that leaves his lips, Lily is more and more surprised by how much Barney sounds like a frightened, lonely child, alone and lost in the dark – and she wonders how Ted could be so cold as to leave him there.

 

It’s just confirmed in Barney’s already damaged psyche the fact that no one ever stays with him for long.

 

Eventually, he’ll always be left alone and waiting in the dark.


	11. Crash

She thought of it months ago, after Barney lied and told her Ted still wanted to be with her, after all. The humiliation of throwing herself at Ted again, only to have him inform her gently – _patronizingly_ – that he had not changed his mind at all, and still was not interested in her… well…

 

It was humiliating even now, months later.

 

When she’d heard about the bus crash mere days after the incident, she’d been glad. As far as she was concerned, Barney Stinson deserved whatever happened to him, for putting her in such an embarrassing situation – not to mention _using_ her to work out his issues with Ted.

 

But Barney not only survived the crash, but used it to get back into Ted’s good graces.

 

They were best friends again, and where was Abby?

 

On the outside looking in – _again_.

 

It wasn’t fair that Barney had gotten what he wanted, and she hadn’t. Well, she’d show him. If Ted wasn’t going to take _her_ back, he wasn’t going to have Barney back, either. She smiled to herself as she put away the wire cutters and stepped away from the rental car outside Barney’s apartment. He was never going to make it to his business meeting in time – of that she was sure.

 

She was going to finish what the bus crash should have accomplished.


	12. Disaster

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

 

He’s lived for pleasure, thinking it’s the best way to spend uncertain days leading to an uncertain endpoint – but never noticing the mess he was leaving behind him.

 

Broken hearts, disillusioned spirits, crushed dreams… his own most of all.

 

His own personal disastrous creation.

 

He turns the gun over, leaning against the bed and glancing idly at the open drawer in Robin’s nightstand from which it came. He looks down at it again before pressing the muzzle between his lips, feeling the cold, smooth steel fill his mouth.

 

_Better clean up this mess…_


	13. Flame

His eyes are momentarily drawn to the flash of flame as he leans in to light the woman’s cigarette, and an instantaneous sensory memory overcomes him.

 

_It’s shiny and smooth and naturally draws the attention of a child – until it’s roughly snatched from his hands. She stumbles as she takes it and hurls it behind her, out of his reach, then slaps him across the face, her aim no worse for the alcohol that reeks on her breath._

 

_“Don’t touch that! I’ll teach you what happens when children mess with grown up things. You wanna play with fire? This is what happens when you do!”_

 

_Searing agony follows the slurred words, and a child’s pleading screams… and little Barney Stinson never touched Mommy’s lighter again._

 

Full-grown Barney Stinson gives the woman a charming smile as she leans in, lips parted around the cigarette as he lights it for her, eyes dancing when they come to light on his again. She thinks she knows what to expect, thinks she’s found the only nice guy in this bar… possibly in this city.

 

She thinks she’s found a shiny new toy to play with.

 

He’s not the one playing with fire this time.


End file.
